A louse in the locks of literature.
Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and I linger on the shore, And the individual withers, and the world is more and more.
Rich in saving common-sense, And, as the greatest only are, In his simplicity sublime.
As the husband is the wife is; thou art mated with a clown, As the grossness of his nature will have weight to drag thee down.
And the days darken round me, and the years, Among new men, strange faces, other minds.
She is coming, my own, my sweet; Were it ever so airy a tread, My heart would hear her and beat, Were it earth in an earthly bed; My dust would hear her and beat, Had I lain for a century dead; Would start and tremble under her feet, And blossom in purple and red.
Ring out the false, ring in the true.
Nor is it wiser to weep a true occasion lost, but trim our sails, and let old bygones be.
Manners are not idle, but the fruit of loyal and of noble mind.
I envy not in any moods The captive void of noble rage, The linnet born within the cage, That never knew the summer woods: I envy not the beast that takes His license in the field of time, Unfetter’d by the sense of crime, To whom a conscience never wakes; Nor, what may count itself as blest, The heart that never plighted troth But stagnates in the weeds of sloth; Nor any want-begotten rest. I hold it true, whate’er befall; I feel it, when I sorrow most; ‘Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all.
Shall eagles not be eagles? wrens be wrens? If all the world were falcons, what of that? The wonder of the eagle were the less, But he not less the eagle.
To me He is all fault who hath no fault at all: For who loves me must have a touch of earth.
Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of: Wherefore, let they voice, Rise like a fountain for me night and day.
The thrall in person may be free in soul
Authority forgets a dying king.
Either sex alone is half itself.
Be near me when my light is low... And all the wheels of being slow.
And others' follies teach us not, Nor much their wisdom teaches, And most, of sterling worth, is what Our own experience preaches.
Sin is too stupid to see beyond itself.
But while I breathe Heaven's air and Heaven looks down on me, And smiles at my best meanings, I remain Mistress of mine own self and mine own soul.
Never, oh! never, nothing will die; The stream flows, The wind blows, The cloud fleets, The heart beats, Nothing will die.
Fill the cup, and fill the can: Have a rouse before the morn: Every moment dies a man, Every moment one is born.
And every dew-drop paints a bow.
Men may come and men may go but I go on forever.
And the sun went down, and the stars came out far over the summer sea, But never a moment ceased the fight of the one and the fifty-three.
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